


The Light Before We Land

by akashiete



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: IwaOi Day, M/M, Mentions of Death, POV Iwaizumi Hajime, i don't know how to write summaries i'm sorry, matsuhana if you squint, matsuhana is a blessing, mentions of Kageyama, mentions of Ushiwaka, not really it's very up there, potential triggering content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akashiete/pseuds/akashiete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi Hajime had decided a long time ago that Oikawa Tooru was not human.</p>
<p>or, the four things that proved Tooru wasn’t human, and the one thing that did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light Before We Land

**Author's Note:**

> basically, iwaizumi is just really really gay
> 
> written for iwaoi day [4/1] so this is late ahahah
> 
> (also sorry if the format's a bit confusing this is very self-indulgent)  
> thanks to shan for sticking with me

Iwaizumi Hajime had decided a long time ago that Oikawa Tooru was not human. 

It was no wonder he was so obsessed with aliens–the guy probably was one.

He was otherworldly. He was unearthly.

He was perfect.

Not like Hajime ever let him know that.

 

 

 

> i.

 

 

Contrary to popular belief, Tooru did not stay up all night watching volleyball plays. He stayed up late and all night, yes, but he did not stay up watching the sport. He stayed up reading recipes for food he’d never make, watching the X-Files, alien conspiracy theories on youtube, and Harry Potter for the seventeenth time.

Hajime was often victim to the thoughts that came because of these activities.

 

(It was three in the morning again, and Hajime had accepted long ago that, as long as a certain Tooru was in his life, his sleep schedule could never be fixed. He got up grudgingly, the moon’s glow making him squint. He muttered something fragmented to himself along the lines of, “Stupid Tooru, can’t even get at least one night of sleep, the little brat,” as he walked from his, very comfortable, bed to his phone on the other side of the room.

The light from his phone was so blinding that he actually dropped it. On his foot. It was heavy. He bit tongue to prevent himself from cursing so loud he’d wake the whole house up, which backfired and ended up causing him even more pain. 

Not even bothering to look at the caller ID, he pressed answer. “Yes, Oikawa?” he said flatly, after his smooth recovery.

Hajime could practically hear Tooru pout his lips, on the other end of the line, as he whined, “Iwa-chan made me wait forever!”

He exhaled, this was what his life had come to, this would be his end. “Well, I’m sorry it took me so long to answer the phone at the totally reasonable hour of three am,” he sighed into the phone, “I’ll be there in a minute, hold on.”

Hajime hung up the phone and quickly put some clothes other than his dark blue boxers on, slipping into some shoes as he climbed out of his window. He put his hands in his pockets, walking down the street until he reached Tooru’s house, a house slightly bigger than all others on the street but nonetheless still moderate sized. Climbing on the window ledge and onto the roof, he found Tooru, lying down and looking up at the stars. The luminescence highlighted his skin perfectly and brought attention to the folds in his hair. 

“No human can have so much energy every day, yet get the amount of sleep you do,” he said as he laid down next to Tooru.

His head whipped to Hajime and his eyes sparkled as he smiled. It was a very large smile, the lip corners were pulled up intensely and it overtook his entire face. “Iwa-chan, you came!”

He looked up at the stars he had become accustomed to seeing every night, and then at Tooru. The stars’ radiance outlined his body, pointing out both the blemishes and beauty of his skin. Hajime closed his eyes, basking himself in the intimacy of Tooru’s close body.

“So what did you want to talk about tonight?”)

 

They stayed up until the sunlight met their eyes, and the sound of the birds’ chirps reached their ears; Tooru’s real voice, at ease and peaceful the entire time.

Hajime wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

 

> ii.

 

 

The eyes were the windows to the soul, they always said.

Dark, chocolate-brown would be the alleged colour of Tooru’s soul.

It had occurred to Hajime one day that Tooru was just dark, chocolate-brown all over.

It was in his hair, and the dimples on his cheek, no doubt in his eyes, and the scars on his skin. 

It was everywhere, really.

 

(The sound of a volleyball whacking against the, recently waxed, wood floor ricocheted in the gym.

Again.

And again.

Hajime checked his watch, _9:57_ , and sighed. It had become a daily ritual–of the sorts–for Tooru to stay after practice until at least ten. Straining his body, straining his mind. Again, and again. Day, after day.

He wanted to scream.

And sometimes he did.

Be it, not always in the way he wanted to, but, Tooru got it.

Tooru understood.

“Oi, Crappykawa,” Hajime said, picking up some of the volleyballs victim to Tooru’s practice, “It’s almost ten. Time to go.”

He placed them in the ball cart and brushed off the dust collected on his hands.

Tooru’s voice echoed, despite being only a few meters away, “Ten more minutes, Iwa-chan! I almost have this perfected, who knows what will happen if I don’t do it now, right?”

He hit another one, his fingers flawlessly plastered against the curve of the ball. They’re long and bony, like a setter’s should be. Like Tooru’s should be, Hajime decided.

“Who knows what will happen if you don’t do it now? Bull. Who knows what will happen if you keep at it? Your body needs rest, and you’ve already put too much strain on it today. Let’s just go home,” Hajime told him off, before adding, “Trashykawa,” for good measure.

Tooru huffed, bending over. “You know, Iwa-chan, you don’t always have to be so rude.”

He stood up and picked up some of the volleyballs near him on the floor, bringing them back to the cart–to Hajime. “You don’t have to hide the fact that you care about me,” his voice low and husky, “If you want me to do something for you, all you have to do is ask.”

Hajime’s heart might have swooned if it weren’t for the fact that it was Tooru talking, and ninety percent of things Tooru said were jokes and lies. Deciding to punch him in the stomach instead, Hajime spoke, “Idiot, your breath is bad, let’s just go home.” 

Then again, ninety-two percent of the things Hajime said to Tooru were lies.

“Don’t I even get time to change?”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you stayed late practicing.” 

“But Iwa-”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll hit you.”

Make that ninety-four percent.

Sighing, Hajime picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. “You have two minutes,” he said, walking, “I’ll be waiting outside the door.” He let his back collapse against the cement walls on the outside of the gymnasium as soon as he stepped out. He leaned his head back, closing his eyelids for not even a second, before he heard Tooru humming, no doubt, five centimeters in front of his face.

Not bothering to open his eyes, Hajime raised a question, “Either you’re the Flash and suddenly know how to change quickly, or that stench I’m smelling is your filthy clothes and not the dog crap in the bushes over there.”

“Iwa-chan, so rude!” Tooru said, not missing a beat, “Besides, is it really a crime I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my best friend?”

Hajime opened one eye at this, which was a mistake. 

When Tooru smiled, Hajime noted, it was like the moon was being created all over again. His eyes crinkled at the sides and he tossed his head back, making it bounce. He was an idiot.

But what do you call the one in love with the idiot?

He opened his gigantic eyes and beamed at him, and it was in this moment that Hajime realized his entire life had been a lie.)

 

Tooru was clear as water and bright as day–Hajime had always seen him that way: see through and fair.

He was blue. 

But that was another lie.

Oikawa Tooru was dirty and opaque–that was the way others saw him: to them, he was murky like mud and thick like wood. 

But, Tooru wasn’t brown.

At least, not that shade.

 

(The luminosity from the lights above the gym entrance reflected in Tooru’s eyes, creating sunsets and clouds out of dirt. It happened in a way that made Hajime’s heart ‘badump badump’: where his breath hitched and his chest rose. The colours in his eyes were derived from the same shade as the tropical coconut shampoo in his hair, and the bitter coffee drunk at three in the morning. His dimples were the folded pages you’d find in a library book, and his skin was the solid bark on trees–proven by the fact that no matter how many times Hajime hit him he never bruised. When Tooru really smiled, his face was the art seen hanging in museums, and everything else about him was the comfy sofa waiting for Hajime back home.

 “Iwa-chan, if you stare any harder your eyes will fall out.”

 He mentally cursed at the Aobajousai electrician crew for being so goddamned good at their job.)

 

It had occurred to Hajime that day that Tooru was dark, chocolate-brown all over. 

It was in his hair, and the dimples on his cheeks, his eyes, and the scars on his skin.

It was everywhere, really.

That was the colour of Tooru.

Dark, chocolate-brown.

 

 

 

> iii.

 

 

The little things made it obvious, really.

It was the way his eyes kept on him when he wasn't looking, the fake threats used to mask the truth.

The hushed thoughts he kept to himself.

 

(Study sessions with Tooru, more often than not, meant an entire evening of him poking Hajime’s forehead and talking too much. Hajime acted like he hated it but, in reality, it wasn’t that bad. Tooru was a fresh reminder of the reasons why he actually should study, which was why it was absolutely horrifying when Tooru decided to shut up for once. The silence was deafening.

Hajime was seated at the table in the center of his room, practicing some of his math, with Tooru somewhat behind him to his left and facing his direction. Usually, he wouldn’t mind not having the distraction, but Tooru had been weird all day. Or at least to Hajime.

The sun had gone done at least two hours ago, and Tooru was no doubt going to stay the night, but Hajime didn’t mind. He hadn’t stayed over in a long time, and life was honestly more enjoyable with him around. With the green curtains slightly parted down the middle of the window, the moonlight was able to shine directly on Hajime’s paper. He took pride in the fact he was able to perfect this after so many years. His room was colder than usual, or maybe it only seemed that way since Tooru wasn’t practically on top of him. 

He turned to the boy, who, while still looking down at his paper, finally spoke, “Iwa-chan, what do you think of Hikari from Class Four?” His voice was low and courteous.

Hajime raised an eyebrow but continued with his homework. “Don’t know, I haven't really talked to her all that much.” He put down his pencil for a second in order to massage his wrist, then kept writing. 

It was a while before Tooru spoke again, his voice matter-of-factly, “I heard she’s going to confess to you.”

“Okay.”

“Iwa-chan! What will you do?”

“Don’t know.”

Tooru let out a dissatisfied ‘hmph’, and Hajime rolled his eyes–waiting for the next thing he would say, but it never came. He sighed, putting down his pencil. “Fine, what do _you_ think I should do?”

He didn’t hear an answer for about thirty seconds, until he turned his head in Tooru’s direction.

Then, in almost an entire second, Hajime’s world changed. An unfamiliar sense of warmth glided over his lips: it wasn’t moist– not dry either. And it tasted of strawberry. It overlapped with his mouth raggedly, leaving his bottom lip exposed to the quick breath beforehand, and shifted the upper part a bit to the right. His eyes were left open to stare at the boy in front of him. He stared at the strand of hair isolated in the middle of his forehead, and at the faint freckles scattered across his eyelids. At the shade of raspberry red that came across his nose and tainted his cheeks, the redness overtook his face and carried to the nape of his neck, making the already overlooked acne become more and more transparent. 

Tooru was perched on the palms in between his legs, his wrists faced him but Hajime could still see the faint ends of the many strokes across his arm. Using his hands as a balance, Tooru had pressed his nose lightly on the bridge of Hajime’s. He could smell Tooru’s clothes, tinted with the lavender scent he’d become accustomed to, it didn’t help that Tooru’s shampoo helped strengthen that fragrance. Tooru then let out a hot breath on the tip of Hajime’s lip, resting his forehead against his for just a moment before inhaling sharply and drawing back, eyes wide open and aghast. He pursed his lips and breathed quietly through them, and Hajime wondered if Tooru’s heart was beating as fast as his, or if he was feeling anything similar to the waves of adrenaline that had settled in his stomach. Their eyes met and they both stared at each other, open-mouthed, until looking away quickly and peaking again.

“I,” Tooru started, furrowing his eyebrows and scrunching his nose, “I think that no human is worthy of Iwa-chan’s affections.” He looked up at Hajime, smiling softly but, his eyelids remained unpulled by the efforts of his fake smile. His mouth went up, but his eyes didn’t tighten.

Tooru pulled his gaze away and directed his attention back to his paper, leaving Hajime left to wonder if the intangible feeling on his lips had always been there.)

 

Tooru once said himself that he wasn’t human.

And Hajime proved it by being crazy for him.

 

 

 

> iv.

 

 

They were sixteen when Hajime realized that Tooru wasn’t afraid of heights.

He was afraid of falling.

 

(Blankets of white snow, at least, five layers thick, covered everything Hajime laid eyes on. He sat on the ski lift, admiring the scenery, with Tooru resting on his shoulder.

“Hey, Assikawa, get up,” Hajime said softly, moving his shoulder a little to budge the seemingly sleeping beauty. His eyes were closed and his eyelashes were collecting snowflakes. He breathed lightly, as if he was scared to move. 

Tooru stirred, tucking his head further into Hajime’s shoulder, and sniffled his pink-tinted nose. “C..ol..d,” he managed to croak.

Taking off his jacket, along with his scarf, and an extra one he had just in case, to give to him, Hajime sighed, ”Yeah, yeah, I know.” Keeping his eyes shut, Tooru put on the articles of clothing and smiled sleepily, squeezing his shoulders to his cheeks and moving his hand to hold Hajime’s arm.

Ten centimeters away from them, Hajime heard Hanamaki ‘huff’, cross his arms, and say, “Mattsun, I’m cold too!”

“Well damn, Makki, I can’t control the weather,” Matsukawa replied instantly, snickering. 

They glanced over half-mockingly, and, just as Hajime was about to yell at them, his body jolted, synchronizing with the faint swing of the stopped ski lift. Tooru shifted again, implying that he was, in fact, awake and that he just didn’t want to get up. Hajime didn’t think that lift was stable enough for him to punch Tooru without him falling off, but he was going to do it anyway.

Just as he had raised his fist into punch formation, Tooru rose from his sleep and hopped off the lift. Like a rabbit, Hajime noted. He reached his hand out forward to help him out, and flashed a soft smile. “Thanks for letting me borrow your shoulder, Iwa-chan, I don’t deserve you.” There was something in his voice that makes Hajime uneasy, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Everyday Tooru became increasingly more difficult to read, and it pissed him off.

He shrugged it off as pointless worrying, and ignored the itch in his throat, as he took Tooru’s hand, exited the lift and fell into the snow. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“No worries,” Tooru quickly replied.

Their fingers were still intertwined.

Hajime didn't mind.)

 

Growing up so close to a forest was chaotic, so was growing up so close to each other. They would disappear for hours on end, looking at bugs, following alien leads, being with one another. But they were together, and that was all that mattered to two children. They were together through night, and through day. Through laughter, and tears. In all those years, Iwaizumi Hajime had seen all the faces that made up the great Oikawa Tooru. He had seen his fake confidence, and his real one, his genuine care, and his manipulativeness. Hajime had always thought everything would be okay as long as Tooru didn’t hurt anyone.

If only Hajime would have realised before, that hurting himself counted too.

 

(When they arrived at the point they would be skiing down, Tooru was panting–something he shouldn’t have been doing since, as far as everyone knew, Oikawa Tooru had an amazing amount of stamina. Hajime blamed the climate.

He moved his palm to Tooru’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “Hey, Oikawa are you okay?”

When Tooru doesn’t reply, body still hunched over, Hajime squeezed his shoulder again. “Did something happen to your knee?"

Silence again.

“Oi-“

Hajime was stopped from berating him about taking care of himself when Tooru stood up straight and turned to him. He tilted his head to the side, making his hair bounce, and clenched his eyelids shut. “Don’t worry about me, Iwa-chan, I’m fine.” His eyes opened again and, even though they were right in front of him, Hajime felt like Tooru was miles away. He smiled again, warmer this time, and Hajime thought that he might have bought it, if it weren’t for the fact that Tooru had been shaking.

Panicked, he shot a look at Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who had been watching the scene. Matsukawa nodded, and Hanamaki gave him a thumbs up, they seemed to understand the message, announcing that they’d catch up with him and Tooru at the bottom. Hajime was grateful.

As they skied away, he reminded himself to thank them later.

He turned to Tooru to see his head hung down, grip strong on his poles, cemented into the snow. His face was covered by his hair, which instantly told him that something was wrong–Tooru would never hide his face. Hajime skied closer to him, taking every stride with caution. He furrowed his eyebrows and asked the question that had been bothering the entire trip, “Oikawa,” he paused to assure himself Tooru had heard him, “are you still scared of heights?”

Tooru chuckled, looking up at him, his eyes gentle. “In a way, you could say that.”

“In what way?” Hajime inquires. 

Eyes and chin tilting up to the sky, Tooru’s voice cracked. “Not so much the height,” his eyes drift back to Hajime, “but the fall.”

Hajime knitted his eyebrows at this, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t about skiing anymore.

Tooru indistinctly mumbled something to himself.

“What was that?"

Finally looking at him with his entire face, Tooru said, “I said I can’t do it,” he looked down at his feet again, "I can’t defeat them.” 

Hajime was about to interrupt and ask him what the hell he was on about, but Tooru spoke louder, "Not Ushiwaka, or Tobio-chan, or even myself. I don’t want to lose to them, Iwa-chan. I don’t want to drag you down with me. I can never win–I will never win. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, does it? Once a failure, always a failure. That’s me.” He fake chuckled, his voice quivering. He shook more rapidly, his breaths intensified. Empty like the fields of endless snow surrounding them, his eyes clenched shut. Hiding his wrists and letting out a soft sob, he buried his face in his hands.

Not knowing what to do next, Hajime was at a crossroad, he didn’t know what he should say–so he didn’t. He bit his lip as he cupped Tooru’s face in both his hands, lifting his face up to look at him. His eyes melted immediately: face falling, tears flow more easily. Hajime dabbed away some of them with his thumb, before he pulled him to his shoulder, resting his nose in his hair. Tooru gave into it, and Hajime could feel the weight of his head against him as he took out his hand and brought them to Tooru’s hair, running his fingers through the dark-chocolate brown locks. He felt the dampness on his shoulder, he felt the breaths.

_I will never win. I will never win._  

He felt the pain.

As he shook more and more, Tooru began to lightly cackle on his jacket, slowly escalating into maniacal laughter; and the sound that escaped him was the thing nightmares were made of. He laughed a laugh so eerie that it echoed. It echoed through the trees, and in Hajime’s mind, reiterating over and over again. Tooru wrapped his arms around Hajime’s neck and connected his jagged hands with each other behind him. Shivers ran down Hajime’s spine as he noticed the beat of Tooru’s trembling fingers against his neck. He pulled him closer, enough to smell his sweat– tinted with just the slightest remains of the lavender his mother left around the house.

“I don’t want to lose, Iwa-chan.”

Slowly lifting his head from the rest on Hajime’s shoulder, Tooru formed a small sad smile–the fact that it was real shattered Hajime’s heart–and looked at him, eyelids drifting open. With his head tilted at an angle, and his eyes red from the crying, Tooru was still unbelievably, undoubtedly beautiful. He blinked, crinkling his eyes, and the jump in Hajime’s heart definitely wasn’t because of the climate. Tooru looked down at Hajime’s hands, and grabbed them, whilst tears, cold as ice, dropped onto them–shattering with all contact made.

“Didn’t you hear? Everything that falls always ends up broken.”)

 

Only angels fell.

 

 

 

> v.

 

 

The once homey smell of lavender haunted Hajime. It surrounded him everywhere and enveloped his body in the scent. It crept into his nose and tainted his fingertips, it perched on his tongue and stung his eyes. That was why there were tears smeared on his face, he told himself, because the aroma stung too much.

It stung too much.

Hajime blamed himself, among other things, but mostly himself. He blamed himself for not seeing the signs, for never stopping him. He blamed himself for having too much faith, and loving him. Hajime blamed himself, for the nothingness that had become of the name Oikawa Tooru.

The familiar brown sofa he was seated on was anything but comfortable, it was firm, matching Hajime’s body. Matching his mind, his will. He closed his eyes, trying to prevent even more tears from streaming–he needed to remain calm for everyone. He needed to smile, to laugh, to reassure them that everything would be okay. Who would've thought, that the day would come where the roles were reversed? Where Hajime was the one fake smiling, and Tooru the one with nothing? The day where everyone was circled around him, and Tooru not in sight?

Almost everyone in the room was acquainted with him: some relatives on his side, the team, his family, of course, close friends–Hajime. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were sat on both sides of him, heads hung back and bitten lips. It was hard to tell for everyone else, but if they were in as close proximity to them as Hajime was, they would notice the drops splattered underneath each of their eyes. Hajime kept his head hung low, that way no one would have the chance to see his tear stained face.

“Hajime, I’m so sorry,” “Hajime, you meant so much to him,” “Hajime, it will all be alright.”

He dug his fingers into his hair, clenching his scalp, and let out a broken groan. “Excuse me,” he said, standing up to rush through the door outside. He kept his fists clamped tightly together by his side as he ran, trying to resist the urge to punch everything in his way. The tree outside Tooru’s house was both a blessing and a curse. It was full of memories of them, but acted as solace for his sadness. Hajime pressed the top of his forehead on the trunk as he stood pounding its sides to let out frustration. The bark grated against his fingers, each punch scraping his fist downward, ripping off skin. He didn’t care.

There was a tap on his shoulder and someone pulled his body their way, Hajime accidentally swung his hand at them, luckily making it off with just a slight brush on their cheek. He saw their face, solemn and pained, and they held out both their arms to hug him. He didn’t resist. Hajime relaxed, and fell into it, crying into their shoulder as Tooru had once done on him. One of his hands grabbed their shoulder, and they swayed him side to side. It was relieving, Hajime thought, to let out all his bottled sobs. It was relieving to have a shirt to destroy with his distress, but hey it was black anyways.

“Don’t you want to punch me too?” they said, voice brittle.

Hajime shook his head into their shoulder length dark-chocolate brown hair, inhaling the lavender scent on their coat. “It should've been me,” he said wobbly, nostrils flaring, “It should've been me.” His breathing was uneven, his chest was vibrating. “It should've been me,” he bawled into their shoulder.

They stroke his hair, brushing through the bristles, and Hajime could feel their neck stretching, as if they were looking up at the sky. They let out a soft shaky sigh of breath, and Hajime heard them gulp. “I know,” they said, pulling apart their lips. The moisture on them caused an indescribable sound, but it soothed him. “But I also know my son,” they continued with a silvery voice, "and he wouldn’t want you thinking like that.” Their breaths were shaky and their nose sniffled. 

Moving their hand from Hajime’s cheek to his chin, they lifted up his face for him to look at them. He tightened his eyes. “Hajime look at me,” they said, voice tremulous. “Hajime,” louder this time, “Look. At. Me.” He cooperated, opening his water filled eyes, to look at them. Look at her. It was painful, really. She had his brown eyes, and his swept hair, his celestial nose, and his clear skin. But, really, it was the other way around wasn’t it? Except now, the boy who once looked like her was nothing.

Hajime’s entire body trembled. His lips broke apart and his eyebrows creased. He inhaled and exhaled hoarsely, voice blocked. “He’s never coming back is he?” He pursed his lips together to stop them from quivering so much, his eyes scrunched dejectedly. “He can never come back can he?” he croaked, still looking at her. She bit her lips, shaking her head slowly at an angle, her eyes mirroring his own. ‘No,’ she tried to say, her voice failing her. He seemed to wail in his own throat as his hands clutched her again.

He’d give anything to reverse the roles again–to have Tooru back.

But humans can’t be resurrected.

**Author's Note:**

> i had to physically restrain myself from naming this (homo)sapiens


End file.
